


you were never gone

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [101]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Hale Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Relationship, Soft Feels, Soft Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, soft Derek Hale, the author apologizes for going missing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: The thing is, they were orange and blue.Orange, the spark of magic on a cold night, and blue, the color of glowing eyes after a bad dream. The thing is, they were orange and blue, and orange and blue were never supposed to fit together.That’s what Stiles thought, anyway.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [101]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 16
Kudos: 135
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	you were never gone

The thing is, they were orange and blue.

Orange, the spark of magic on a cold night, and blue, the color of glowing eyes after a bad dream. The thing is, they were orange and blue, and orange and blue were never supposed to fit together.

That’s what Stiles thought, anyway.

The last time he’d seen Derek Hale, the man of glowing blue eyes had given him a quiet look before climbing into his Camaro with a packed bag. It had felt more like a goodbye than words ever could and Stiles had only stood there, watching as the man drove right out of his life. Faster than he’d ever entered it.

And then Derek Hale was nothing but a memory for months to come.

Glowing blue eyes after a bad dream, that’s what brought Stiles out of the past and into the present like he’d been dunked in ice water. One night flash forward three months, when he fell asleep on the couch in the loft with his laptop balanced on his chest and a page open on ‘night terrors’. Other than his visits, the loft had been forgotten and empty for too long— since Derek had vanished into thin air after they’d all nearly died. Again.

Stiles’s dad was pulling more night shifts than anything else now and honestly, Stiles didn’t know which was worse. The silent house where he used to wake up screaming, or the silent loft that was all too empty these days. He didn’t know what was worse, but he did know that the nightmares came less often when he stepped foot into Derek's loft.

And that was kind of strange, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Tonight was a little different.

There were these voices that liked to haunt Stiles in his sleep. Sometimes, it was Void’s, sometimes it was his own. Sometimes, it was the two of them together and a pale face reflecting in a mirror, eyes sunk-in with a smirk that always made Stiles feel sick.

He found that if he screamed hard enough when they started talking, sometimes he could scream himself awake. It was like a yelling competition; whoever was the loudest took control. Sometimes, Stiles won, and sometimes, he didn’t

It was when Void’s voice became his own— his own screams, his own laughter, his own reflection— that Stiles knew he wasn’t getting out of his head until morning.

But then there was orange and blue.

Stiles hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not really. But there was something about the silence of the abandoned loft. All those times when the air had been filled with the blaring TV, or Peter droning on while everyone else ignored him, or the betas arguing about something stupid. The loft had been loud and annoying until everything was dead and silent and to Stiles, that felt a little bit like a bad dream. 

But then it wasn’t silent anymore. It wasn’t silent and maybe it was a dream, Void smiling at him with an empty look in his eyes. Except, maybe it wasn’t Void. Maybe it was Stiles; Stiles, when he’d driven that sword into Scott’s chest. Stiles, when he’d walked into the police station only to see the place in shambles. Stiles, when he’d thrown Derek against the nearest pillar with all the strength it must take to kill a man. 

Stiles tried to scream, but there was a reflection of Void standing over him, empty eyes so cold, and for a moment too long, he forgot what it was like to have a voice that was his own. His own, not that of the Nogitsune.

And then all Stiles could do was _remember._

There was a reason he had hated the loft for so long. The faces that never came around anymore, that never even stood a chance. Erica, with her sharp grins or Boyd, with the way he’d look at Stiles after her death, as if the night in the basement had never happened, as if it hadn’t gotten worse and things only went downhill from there.

Then there was his dad with a pair of handcuffs and the words _you’re not my son_. Or Derek, collapsed on his knees, staring at nothing as blood dripped from his claws. There was orange, like a house fire, and blue, like a pool of water with no way out.

There was Void, there was an empty scream, and there was nothing, _nothing,_ but— 

_“Stiles!”_

If he were to ever be saved from himself, now would be the time. Stiles jerked out of his mind like he’d been electrocuted and his heart nearly stopped as he saw a dark figure crouched over him. A shout formed on his tongue and Stiles tried to shove the man back before realizing he was saying his name over and over again, one hand gripping Stiles by the arm like an anchor holding him to the ground.

Then in the silence, glowing blue eyes cut through the darkness, and Stiles’s heart stopped.

_No._

The shout died in his throat, nearly cracking into a sob, and Stiles shook his head, yanking away.

“No, no,” he said, scrambling off the couch and retreating backward. He was trembling, he realized, shaking uncontrollably as the ground beneath his feet seemed to tilt. Derek stood slowly, the blue fading from his eyes and Stiles shook his head again, certain his mind was still playing tricks on him.

And this might be the cruelest trick yet.

“No,” he said again, back ramming against one of the pillars. Derek raised a hand, taking a step forward, only to stop as Stiles made another strangled noise at the back of his throat. Once more, the man’s eyes sparked blue.

“Stiles—”

“No,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “No, shut up. Shut the hell up, it’s not you.”

Derek flinched and Stiles hated him. Hated him, hated himself, and hated how for some reason, he wanted this to be real. So bad, maybe more than anything else in the world, he needed this to be real.

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek said. “It’s me.”

Stiles just stared, heart hammering against his chest. “No, no, it’s not. You’re gone and you’ve been gone. You’ve been gone for so longDerek. No!”

“Stiles—”

“Shut up!” Stiles shouted. His head spun as he willed himself to wake back up, to snap out of it. He tried to drag himself from his own mind, but it was a losing battle from the start. Because Derek Hale couldn’t be here. Not really. Stiles had thought about this moment over and over again, and it never ended well. It never ended right.

It never ended up being real.

“Please,” Stiles said, voice cracking. “Please, Derek, I can’t.”

Sometimes, if Stiles screamed loud enough, he could wake himself up. He could make it all stop. But it was becoming clear that this wasn’t one of those times and all Stiles could do was plead with himself as Derek took a careful step forward, hands still raised.

As if he was scared Stiles would do something other than beg.

Unwittingly, Stiles counted the man’s fingers. Five on one hand and five on the other, his heart skipping a beat at that realization. Derek was only a foot away now and the man reached out, catching one of Stiles’s trembling hands and pressing two fingers against Stiles’s pulse point. Then two fingers against his own.

“Stiles,” Derek said, words a whisper. “It’s me.”

Orange and blue.

Stiles choked on his breath as he searched Derek’s face, the faintest flicker of blue sparking in the man’s eyes once more. And suddenly, it didn’t matter if he was losing his mind, if he was somehow wrong, or if this was going to end faster than it had started. Derek grunted in surprise as Stiles threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck, and the 'were froze for a second before carefully hugging Stiles back.

“God, you asshole,” Stiles said, words cracking. “You were gone.”

Derek tensed but didn’t pull away. And Stiles was almost terrified to move in case something was about to change. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember falling asleep or waking up. Because if one had happened, then the other had too, right? He was out of his head. He wasn’t dreaming anymore.

“This is real,” Stiles said if only to hear it out loud, in the darkness of the loft broken only by the glowing blue of Derek Hale’s eyes.

“Your house was empty when I went by,” Derek murmured. “I tracked your scent here.”

“What?” Stiles finally pulled away, looking at the man in confusion. He blinked.

“There was... no one home.”

“You went to my house?”

This time, it was Derek’s turn to give him a confused-browed look. And yeah, that was definitely Derek Hale. Maybe his stubble had become a little more of a beard, or his expression was a little less hard, but it was definitely Derek Hale. And god, how long had it been since Stiles had seen him last? That one night that had seemed more like a goodbye than anything else.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, drawing all the way away. “You left. You _left,_ asshole. Why the hell did you come back?”

Derek clenched his jaw. Stiles stared.

“What, Derek? What? Why the hell would you come back?”

“This is my loft, you know.”

“No, _no._ You were gone!”

For a long moment, Derek was quiet. Then he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest like a barrier. Stiles didn’t know what to do with the sudden silence that draped over the loft, but he felt like he might explode if he had to stand here in the darkness, the silence, for much longer. Running a hand through his hair, Stiles shook his head, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Why did you go?”

He was kind of terrified for the answer. Because Stiles had thought about that a million times over the months. He hadn’t really expected Derek to come back, so he’d never really expected to be able to ask. But if it was because Beacon Hills wasn’t enough, the rest of the pack wasn’t enough, _Stiles_ wasn’t enough, he might end up regretting letting those four words slip out at all.

Derek was silent for a long moment. The man’s eyes searched Stiles’s face as if he was looking for the right answer and maybe that made him feel a little better. Or a little more terrified.

“Derek?”

“I wasn’t going to watch you die.”

Stiles blinked. Of all the things he’d ever expected, that was the last. The words took their time sinking in and then he stared at the werewolf in confusion. “You… what?”

“I wasn’t going to watch you die,” Derek said again, face hardening. “And that meant I had to leave.”

“Why the hell would you— what the hell does— that doesn’t even make any sense, Derek!”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he growled, making Stiles flinch a little. Almost as quickly, the look was gone and Derek was stone-faced again. He clenched his jaw and seemed to mull over his next words, before shaking his head. “I left because I couldn’t watch you die,” the man said. “And I came back because I couldn’t stay gone.”

It didn’t make any sense. Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face, not fully sure he wasn’t still dreaming again. Except it seemed Derek wasn’t done.

“Everyone,” the man said, voice cracking a little. “Everyone, Stiles. Will leave or die, and you know that.”

The night Derek left, they’d all nearly been killed. _Again._ But at that point, Stiles had just kind of decided that’s what happened. That’s what a normal day for them was like. It’s not what he’d expected when he’d been a freshman thrown into the supernatural world, but he figured that was just life now. Even with graduation around the corner, Stiles didn’t think he saw it changing much. He’d always come back, one way or another. 

So maybe he and Derek weren’t so different then.

Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, the room seeming to grow colder. “None of us are going to die, Derek.”

It felt like a lie as much as it probably was, the dark loft around them and the memories of everything making the words sour on Stiles’s tongue. He flinched internally and Derek’s jaw clenched once more. The man nodded and turned away, moving to the door and picking up the bag left on the ground beside it. Stiles straightened in panic, but the man just turned around, dropping it on the couch and unzipping the top.

The man unpacked in silence for a moment. Carefully, Stiles moved after him.

Watching Derek unpack, Stiles was struck with the realization that everything that was the man's life could all probably fit into that one duffle. Derek's movements were practiced and neat, like he’d done it a million times before. A lump formed in Stiles’s throat as he stared.

Dying or leaving— he wondered if that was much of the same thing. One was probably more final than the other, but when Derek had left and Stiles hadn’t expected him back, it hadn’t seemed much different.

It was strange, he thought. Orange and blue weren’t supposed to fit but the loft felt brighter than it had in a long time.

“You came back,” Stiles said carefully. “So no one else in the pack…” _dies “_... gets hurt.” 

That earned him a flat look. He swallowed.

“So I don’t get hurt.”

“Stiles—”

“But when you left,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “That felt worse.”

Derek’s face did something strange. Stiles sank onto the couch next to the man’s neat stack of clothes and shrugged. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him, but he didn’t really know what else to say. It felt worse than getting hurt? It felt like he’d lost something… someone?

And maybe he was terrified that one day, Derek would disappear again.

Those last words came out in a whisper before Stiles even realized it. Derek tensed, then set his things aside, sitting on the couch at Stiles’s side. The last time Stiles had seen the man look so quiet, so _sorry,_ he’d left. He'd taken his duffle, life packed into it so neatly, and he'd gone. And Stiles just hoped more than anything that this night wouldn’t end the same way.

“If you don’t want to lose me,” he said, “maybe I don’t want to lose you either.”

Glancing up, Stiles looked into faded blue eyes. Not quite so electric— or maybe the loft just wasn’t as dark anymore. Wasn’t as menacing. Stiles’s laptop had slid off the couch at some point, but the open page on ‘night terrors’ was blank. Derek’s neat little stack of clothes wasn’t so perfect anymore and Stiles startled as the man took his hands, calloused palms surprisingly soft.

“If you don't go leave again,” Stiles whispered, “I won’t go anywhere either.”

“That’s not something you can promise.”

“Have you met me?”

Derek huffed and Stiles could practically see it in his eyes— yeah, and maybe that’s why the man looked a little terrified. A little unsure. But Stiles just grinned softly. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Sourwolf.”

Because the thing is, they were orange and blue. Orange and blue, which weren't supposed to fit together. But maybe sometimes it was the things that made the least sense that always ended up being just right. Something about beta blue eyes and sparkling whiskey ones or whatever. Something about the first night that Stiles fell asleep on the loft's couch, a body next to his, and he didn’t have to scream himself awake.

Something about orange and blue, something about an empty loft. About coming, about going, about staying.

Something about a promise that Stiles intended to keep.

He thought the look in Derek's slightly terrified eyes might just be a reflection of that too.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, so I went MIA for a few months? I 100% forgot how to write and it took me a while to get back into it, but here we are now! Hopefully, not too rough around the edges, and hopefully, the inspiration will stick around a bit longer! I adore and missed you all <3


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